Текст Fit For An Autopsy – The Consumer

Corroded swollen veins.
Wallow in the swill of the storm drain runoff, born blistered and sterilized.
Bloated chemical backslide, already drowning in the acid of the afterbirth.
The wheels are turning in the wrong direction.
The greatest of consumers.
The sow of the masses.
Unholy leaders of immoral sacrifice.
Foreseeable panic.
Devastation and havoc.
Pig and man as one the butchers block.
A desecration, a wasteland, a gluttons paradise.
A desecration, a wasteland, a gluttons paradise.
A world infected, a breed emaciated, a disgusting way of living life.
Ingested genetic pollution.
Bleed the well dry, narrow corridors, slowly shrinking.
Close the doors, the floor is sinking.
The once proud face of man, embraced by hooks hung from the ceiling.
House of swine.
Kingdom of dirt.
Feed the flies, gorging on the sewage of the Earth.
Nothing but a smear on a timeline.
A shred of nothing, nothing.
House of swine.
Kingdom of dirt.
Feed the flies, gorging on the sewage of the Earth.
Shells of men, polluted worms.

Spineless hosts.
Bones left to burn.
House of swine.
Kingdom of dirt.
Feed the flies, gorging on the sewage of the Earth.